


Cattiva

by silverthurible (catacombsaint)



Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Language Barrier, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, a cat is fine too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-19 23:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11908677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catacombsaint/pseuds/silverthurible
Summary: Papa Emeritus II calls the Special ghoul into his office for something important.





	Cattiva

**Author's Note:**

> a thurible/catacomb collab fic! this one's been in the works for a long time. enjoy 10k words of papa ii being a filthy old man. thanks for reading!

“Hey.”

One pointed ear swivelled to face the water ghoul who stood below on the tiled floor of the empty chapel, making it clear that his voice was heard.

“Hey. Special. Special ghoul.” 

Heard, but apparently ignored. The Church of Lincopia’s PR ghoul was curled up and asleep on an exposed rafter, the cast light of a stained glass window falling on him so picturesquely it looked like he’d positioned himself there on purpose. He probably did, actually. That wouldn’t have been out of character for him. It also wasn’t out of character for him to sleep through conversations he didn’t consider worthy of his time, but the bassist had been sent to retrieve him on Papa’s orders, and he wasn’t in the mood for Special’s sass. 

Scanning around the chapel for something he could throw, he decided on a prayer book, considering its weight in his hands for a moment before hurling it at Special. It connected with a dusty thump against the back of the falsely-sleeping ghoul’s head. 

“Fuck!” he hissed, knocked off of his perch, his hair poofing up as he scrambled to regain his balance. One leg dangled down from the rafter and his tail flicked angrily in the air. “I was asleep!”

“You were not,” the water ghoul scowled at him. “And Papa wants you, so get up.”

“Papa wants me?” Special asked.  _ Papa _ wanted  _ him _ ? That was...rare. That had actually never happened before, at least not under Emeritus II’s reign. 

“That’s what I said,” the bassist replied. 

“What for?”

“Hell if I know. Papa doesn’t tell me shit. Old bastard hates me for some reason.”

“Papa hates everyone.” 

“Well, we all know he’s got a soft spot for fire ghouls, so you lucked out, I guess. Now get off your ass and go talk to the geezer.”

With a huff, Special slunk down to the chapel floor, dusting off his cassock and adjusting his pellegrina. 

“Besides, I’m a band ghoul, so you  _ have _ to listen to me,” the bassist added, although Special was already on his way out of the chapel. 

“Your name fits your personality, Salt,” he snorted as he left. “We should call you Saltwater.”

“ _ Icek to, _ ” Salt called after him.

On his way to Papa's chambers, Special stopped at his room to pick up his mask. He knew the pope wasn't fond of seeing his ghouls in in anything less than complete dress; he'd heard horror stories of his brothers and sisters having dogs sicked on them for offenses as minor as loose fascias or unfastened buttons, so he made sure as he went that his hood was drawn over his head—he whispered the incantation that would magically hide his horns away for it to fit—his grucifix pendant hung evenly in the center of his chest, and that he looked overall pristine. Not much of a challenge for him—he already considered himself the most clean and immaculate of ghouls anyway. His churchmates were too small-minded to see the benefit of tongue baths.

When he arrived at the oversized door that led into the pope’s private wing, he paused to sigh. Lucifer, he didn’t want to talk to this old bastard. He considered briefly if skipping out would bring him a worse fate than actually speaking to him.

Yeah, it probably would. So, Special sucked it up and entered, and was immediately assaulted visually with more wood panelling than he’d ever seen before in his life. He’d done interviews in some pretty dated venues, but Papa’s office was...how did the Church even attach wood panels to centuries-old stone castle walls?

The room was dimly-lit, and the dark mahogany that made up nearly every piece of furniture in the space didn’t help to brighten the mood. In the corner, surrounded by the oversized leaves of potted plants, sat a turntable, quietly pumping out the sound of some obscure old record that Special had never heard, but didn’t enjoy. On a far wall was a door, that Special guessed led further into the pope’s chambers.

And behind the largest desk the ghoul had ever seen in his life, an intricately-carved and polished slab of pretentious, expensive wood, Papa’s chair faced away from him. The leather creaked when he spun around to face his visitor.

“You took your time, eh?” the pope said, looking down at his desk and resuming writing on some kind of paperwork.

He was dressed down in his casual clothes: a three piece suit, though his blazer was hung on a coat rack not too far from his side. And was he...wearing sunglasses? What kind of Corey Hart asshole wore sunglasses  _ inside, _ and in a room that managed to be even darker and dingier than the rest of the castle?

Granted, Special couldn't recall if he'd ever seen Papa dressed casually before, now that he thought about it. In fact, he didn't even know that was possible. He’d never seen Emeritus the First out his chasuble, but he was also positive that he never wanted to, so thank Satan it never happened.

But...admittedly...begrudgingly so...he couldn’t deny that despite his questionable accessorization, Emeritus the Second wasn't terrible to look at out of his papal vestments. Whether or not that was a pleasant surprise was still up for debate.

“ _ Although _ ,” the sound of Papa’s voice again so suddenly startled him, but thankfully he didn’t flinch. “I feel like maybe it was that  _ other _ ghoul that took his time and wasted mine. I hate that.”

Well, it wasn't nice knowing you, Salt.

“You...needed something, Papa?” Special figured he might as well move things along so he could get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible. Something about this man just put him on edge in the worst way, and the further he was from him the better things would be. Maybe he was hung up on the sunglasses indoors; there was just something so... _ skeezy _ about it. 

Regardless, Papa didn't answer the question, and still didn't look up from whatever he was writing. It was almost like what little he said before was more of him making observations to himself than making conversation. That was probably the case. Or the old fucker didn't hear him.

So, Special opened his mouth to ask again, stopping short when Papa silently slid one hand forward towards the front of his desk.

Special stared at it, then stared up at him, then back to his hand, before the glint of the Papal ring caught his attention.

Oh.

What an insufferable, egotistical asshole.

Special’s tail, carefully hidden behind him, twitched in irritation when he walked forward and kneeled down, taking Papa's hand in his with as little contact as possible, and pressed his lips to the cool metal as lightly and briefly as he could manage. 

The speed with which he backed away was disrespectful, but apparently the show of deference worked well enough, and finally Papa looked at him.

“Ghoul.”

No names then, huh? Special wouldn’t argue, even though that pricked his nerves in a way that made his tail bristle in annoyance. Whatever. Better to take shit from your superior in this case than end up under the castle.

“Yes, Papa?”

He watched as Papa set his pen down and reclined a bit in his chair, before he slipped one of the desk drawers open to retrieve what appeared to be a box of cigarettes and one of those fancy, refillable lighters. There were words engraved on it, but Special’s knowledge of Italian was amateur at best, and with Papa's hand partially obscuring it, it was impossible for him to decipher.

Papa took his sweet time retrieving a cigarette and lighting up before speaking again, and for a man that despised having his time wasted, he sure liked to waste everyone else's.

”You are the one that does the…’Public Relations’”, he said, through a slow exhale of smoke, “Yes? That is what they call it?”

“Yeah.” Special replied bluntly.

“... _ Yeah? _ ”

Fucking Christ.

“Yes, Papa.”

“Mm.”

Another slow drag, followed by the gentle tapping of ash into its tray on his desk.

“Take off your mask for me, would you please? The hood as well,” Papa asked. It wasn’t a request.  

What.

“What?”

“I don't repeat myself, ghoul.”

Fair enough. Again, Special wouldn’t argue.

But it pissed him off. After all the effort he took to go out of his way to retrieve his mask and straighten himself up, Papa didn't even want it on him. And, come to think of it,  _ why? _ Why would he care about a ghoul’s identity, or what they looked like? The entire point was to not be too strongly differentiated from one another, so why did Papa care to put a face to his voice? And he fucking hated ghouls, so why show any interest at all?

Special knew his role was invaluable, of course, but this was Papa. He didn't care. So why show interest now? Why was he even here?

He could’ve been overthinking it, but that was an easy feat with someone as unreadable as Emeritus the Second.

Actually, unreadable wouldn't be right—you could easily read “annoyed” and “pissed.” He broadcasted those loud and clear. And broadcasting annoyance was exactly what he did now, as he rolled his cigarette between his fingers with an amount of menace in the gesture that Special never fathomed it could have, the longer Special stared back at him in confusion.

Right. Fuck it. Mask off, then.

With deft fingers, Special pulled his hood down, then carefully slipped his mask off of his face, balaclava in tow, releasing the concealment magic that kept his horns from knocking all of those things askew, then ruffled his hair into a style that felt acceptable.

There. He did what he wanted.

Papa stopped short of bringing his cigarette back to his lips, pausing, then very slowly set it on the edge of his ashtray.

Even with his shades obscuring as much as they did, Special could see a crease forming at his furrowed brow, which could apparently visibly furrow even more than it always did.

Was there something on his face?

Whatever was apparently up with him must have been some kind of serious, because all he could do was stand there and uneasily watch as Papa pulled off his sunglasses, neatly folded them, and put them inside his desk without breaking eye contact.

God, that fucking googly white eye of his was unsettling to look at, and his already intense gaze was made worse for it. Eventually, Special couldn't help it; he looked away. It was too much to maintain even for him, and from what he could gather, Papa was still glaring at him.

“...You are more attractive than I expected. This is a surprise I like.”

What.

“What is that supposed to mean?” If this was going where he thought it was—

“It means, ghoul, that I have heard things about you that are interesting.” 

_ Oh, boy, _ Special thought.

“And splaying you out on my desk is even more appealing now.”

_ Theeere it is.  _

Honestly, Special was surprised he hadn't predicted this—it wasn't as if he hadn't heard the rumors floating around the dorms about how often this Papa liked to fuck ghouls for someone who hated them so much. He’d caught glimpses of Alpha sneaking around at all kinds of bizarre hours looking a mess, but never thought too much of it until now.

Come to think of it, that would explain that smug attitude he'd taken on recently—he fucks Papa and suddenly he's got some chip on his shoulder about it.

_ Sorry, Alpha,  _ he thought,  _ there's only one special ghoul _ .

“So...are you saying you want to fuck me?”

The corners of Papa's mouth curved into the tiniest smirk. Lucifer, he hated this creepy bastard, but he'd be a liar if he said he didn't want to know what it'd be like. So, fuck it, why not? He'd give the old man more than he bargained for and then some.

“Come here then, ghoul,” Papa beckoned to him, ”Since you know so well what I want, show your Papa what you can do. I want to know if what I've heard about you is true.”

Special shrugged, but obeyed and slinked around the desk slowly, stopping in front of Papa's seated form. Papa uncrossed his legs, thighs spread just a bit further apart than normal, a languid, self-satisfied smirk still resting on his lips.

Special didn’t bother trying to hide how he rolled his eyes as he set his mask down on the desk and sank to his knees between Papa's legs, fingers tracing the seam of his slacks along his inner thighs up to his fly. Palming the shape of his dick beneath the fabric, Special became  _ very aware _ that he might be working with more than he expected.

He was warm in his hand, and he could tell he was thick, but not how much, and he knew without looking that Papa was watching him appraisingly, a suspicion quickly confirmed when he felt Papa's fingers under his chin, tilting his head up to look at him. 

When did he take his gloves off?

Thumb brushing across his lips, Papa then slipped it between them, prying Special's mouth open, and running it along his tongue. Between a flutter of thick lashes—why  _ were _ his eyelashes so full anyway? He didn't want to admit that it was attractive, but...Papa’s eyes went wide with surprise for a moment that was almost missed. This time it was Special’s turn to look a little smug.

“Your tongue...hm.” And then he drew his hand away.

“I will let you work, then.”

If he thought that was something against his thumb, he was about to have his fucking mind blown.

Without wasting any time, Special undid Papa's fly, and of course there was nothing underneath. Old lecher. 

Papa shifted his hips forward ever so slightly when Special freed his dick from his slacks and— _ oh. _

Alright. He was bigger than he thought. A lot bigger. Fuck. Fuck, okay, he could handle this, but...holy shit. So the old man did have a reason for that ego.  _ That's fair _ , Special thought, as he pressed his lips to the head of his cock. 

It was a tease and they both knew it, the tips of his forked tongue flicking along the slit a few times, Special’s ear twitching towards the sound of the quietest exhale from Papa. His tail flicked beneath his cassock when he swirled his tongue around the head, its odd, bumpy texture earning a shift of Papa's hips that made the ghoul smile, before he sank down around him all at once until his face was flush against his pelvis. He swallowed around the cock in his throat, cheeks hollowing and tongue working along the length each time his mouth came back down on Papa's dick.

Papa was otherwise silent. 

Special turned on the most sultry glance he could muster when he looked up—

Only to see that Papa wasn't even  _ looking at him. _ He was...working again?! Wow, what the fuck. Fuck him, actually.

He’d picked up his cigarette once more at some point, falling ash leaving a small dusting in Special's hair as it hung from Papa's lips. It was like Special didn't even exist to him, save for the very sparse hums of approval, or a barely audible exhale. It was a blow to his ego that the ghoul couldn't abide by.

He swallowed so far down around him again that he felt Papa's dick hit the back of his throat, every sound the ghoul made becoming increasingly obscene the more he worked him, head bobbing gradually faster.

_ That  _ was enough to hold Papa's attention, judging from the soft weight of his hand now resting on his head between his horns, and the slight way he canted his hips forward into the sensation. Special pulled off with a wet  _ pop _ , then pressed his lips to the underside of his dick, licking and sucking his way right to the base. His tongue ran a hot path down his balls, its texture against sensitive skin making the devil pope shudder out a sigh and his fingers curl a little tighter in Special's hair. The pull squeezed a moan from him, something else that Papa clearly liked, so he tugged a bit harder, testing the reactions. Special moaned a little louder. And, fuck, normally Special’s self-control was worth bragging over, but he was so sensitive there—

He couldn't let Papa wisen up to that just yet. 

So he worked back up, humming as he went, and when Papa glanced down at him he flashed a crooked, fangy grin at the old man, determined to stay on top even while he had his cock in his mouth. The pope grunted low in his chest. Special could laugh at him right now. He knew he was talented, and most everyone else in the Church knew it too, but being able to turn even Papa himself into a squirming mess was stroking his ego in a major way.  _ Hell, they should let me be the next Papa, _ he thought.

The ghoul got so caught up in his self-congratulation that he lost track of what his pope was doing with his hands. He nearly gagged when he was yanked by the hair, forced down onto him until his face was buried in pubes. Papa kept him there for a moment that felt way too fucking long, until Special was about to bring his claws out to scratch him, and then he pulled away. The ghoul sputtered and gasped for air before being pulled in again, choking as his throat was filled.

Now it was Papa’s turn to laugh. He chuckled as he held the ghoul in place again for a moment. Then he readjusted his grip, moving from Special’s hair to one of his short, conical horns. His fingertips dug gently into the seam where they jutted out from his scalp, in little massaging motions that bordered on affectionate and that drew a high-pitched whine from the ghoul. Oh, Lucifer. It was only getting harder for the ghoul to maintain his composure.

It was getting harder to stay conscious, too, with the way Papa kept suffocating him on his dick.

Using the hand on his horn as leverage, Papa abandoned the work on his desk to fuck Special’s face, meeting every harsh pull of his lips back down around his length with a thrust of his hips that seemed to bury him deeper each time he repeated the motion. Tears bubbled up at the corners of Special’s eyes, triggered by his gagging and swallowing, and spit and moisture dribbled down his chin, some dripping off and landing on his pellegrina. 

" _ Che sapore ha il cazzo del tuo Papa nella tua gola, ragazzo? _ " the pope slurred from above. Special only half-understood what he was saying—something about how his cock tasted? He knew it was fucking sleazy, if his vague knowledge of Italian dirty talk was accurate. 

It was obvious that Papa was close, with the pounding Special’s mouth was receiving, and the old man’s thrusts becoming quicker and shallower until finally they slowed to a halt, his cock pulling out from his lips with a raunchy, wet sound. The ghoul couldn’t contain the small gasp that left him when his pope grabbed him by the jaw, forcing him into searing eye contact as he furrowed his brow and came onto his face, barely making a sound as he did. And, fucking hell, there was a lot of it—Papa swiped his thumb through the mess on Special’s cheek before it could drip onto the floor.

“Good boy,” he said, pushing the finger into the ghoul’s pink and swollen lips for him to suck. 

Special figured he'd put on one last bit of a show, ending the little fling with a high note to remember. He met Papa’s gaze with a heated one of his own as he ran his tongue over the pad of his thumb, points of his teeth teasing the skin as he swirled his tongue around until he knew he’d licked him clean. Then he let go, and batted his eyes when he wiped off what was left of his cum with the back of his hand, licking that clean as well.

The crooked smirk of approval that Papa flashed him was another little boost to Special’s ego. Yeah, still  _ damn _ good at sucking dick. 

He wasn't expecting much more in the way of stamina from the old pope, let alone in the way of reciprocation after that—it'd be ages before he'd rebound from that good of a blow, so he'd simply clean up and jerk off somewhere after slipping out. Quick and easy,  _ and _ he got his own little bragging rights out of it. So he straightened his pellegrina, and braced to stand. Papa got what he wanted and was done with him, of course.

At least, Special  _ thought _ he was done with him, until he felt a firm hand that had found its rest again heavily on top of his head, fingers scratching at his scalp and stroking at the base of his horns. Steady and deliberate, probing until they found a sweet spot that made Special's eyes roll back, fluttering shut, mouth falling open with a breathy moan. It seemed Papa had caught on after all. If Special wasn't hard before, it was definitely clearly felt now. 

“Why are you in such a hurry, Special ghoul?” Special tried to ignore how actually hearing his name pass the pope’s lips made him squirm and his pulse quicken. “We aren't finished here.”

Oh.

His touch became focused entirely where he'd found the most response, and he got exactly what he wanted: Special squirmed restlessly where he knelt, soft sounds slipping through parted lips, head tilted and ears turned towards the sensation—a heady feeling almost entirely swept over him that became harder to resist the longer he lingered there. But fuck if it didn't feel  _ so good,  _ and Papa knew just how to touch him so quickly _ … _

“Stand up.” Papa tugged him up by his hair, earning a yelp and a swear, but the ghoul obeyed easily either way. He felt he needed to. The bastard might yank his head clear off if he didn't, he rationalized.

When he stood fully, Papa wasted no time bringing him closer, fingers hastily moving to the buttons towards the end of the ghoul's cassock, and he pulled them apart so quickly that Special worried he'd tear them clear off and leave him with an incredibly uncomfortable visit to the castle seamstresses. How would he explain that  _ Papa _ of all people had ruined his cassock? Not that he hadn't had visits to them before, but this particular story would be hard to believe.

When Papa finally stopped, he'd unbuttoned the garment to the ghoul's mid-thigh, pale flesh beneath exposed to the open air. Ghouls weren't fond of pants, as it so happened.

Papa seemed appreciative of that, and savored every moment, taking in the sight with half lidded eyes as he slipped his hands between the dark fabric, their warm caress making its way up between Special's thighs until he found the waistband of his underwear and slid them down. He patted Special's thigh, and the ghoul understood that as the cue to step out of them. Special could only attempt to hide his annoyance when they were tossed aside, somewhere out of view.

He quickly forgot about them when Papa leaned forward, kissing along his inner thighs. One, then the other, then back again, his breath a cascade over Special's skin that left goosebumps in its wake and made him shiver. He was loath to admit it, but this old man knew damn well what he was doing. Then again, Emeritus the Second had the face and presence of a hedonist to the highest degree, and Special was about to find out just how far the old man’s debauchery could go. 

Papa stood up, with the equal amount of drama he did everything else and—holy  _ shit _ , he was tall. Really tall. Special knew he was, of course, as anyone could tell from a distance, but he'd never been this close before. Well, he could say he was proportional, at least.

With one broad palm splayed flat against Special's chest, Papa pushed him towards the desk with a surprising amount of gentleness, before hoisting the small ghoul up onto it. Hands on him so suddenly startled him, and the undignified sound he made earned a deep chuckle from Papa in response. An attractive sound, but he was still an asshole. 

He was pushed down until he was laid flat on his back, and hardly a minute passed before the dark pope was over him, bearing down on him, head tucked in the crook of his neck, biting at the skin there while he deftly undid the buttons at the top of his cassock, stopping at the hem of his fascia. Then, he pulled it open, sliding it off of Special's shoulders, the ghoul hissing at the sudden sting of the cold metal of his grucifix when it dropped against his chest. Papa set to work, kissing and nipping along his collarbone and every newly exposed expanse of skin, marveling at his scent. Special never thought that Papa could pick up on a ghoul's scent, but the deliberate way he breathed him in—once, twice, three times—humming to himself with some kind of controlled delight…

It was a little unsettling, and very sleazy, but a part of him reveled in the lavish attention. It was rare to find someone who appreciated him this fervently, and he shivered beneath his pope’s touches.

“ _ La tua pelle è così morbida...potrei affondarci i denti, lasciarti segni ovunque…”  _ Papa whispered, and Special could feel his lips move against his skin as he spoke—something about something soft? Marks? It was becoming more difficult to guess through the fog over his thoughts, thickening the more Papa touched him. Pressed against him, between his legs, he could feel that Papa was getting hard again, and fuck...it was a surprise, but Special was painfully hard too, and he needed to get off, and he'd be a goddamned liar if he said he wasn't craving how Papa would feel inside him.

His dick was huge, he'd go ahead and admit it. It was fucking huge and just what he wanted right now.

There was no way to ask him to hurry up without the old man gloating about it. Special had to swallow his pride and show out if that meant getting fucked faster—he was  _ into it _ now.

So he brought his arms up around Papa's waist, fingers digging into the fabric of his vest, but careful of claws, to hold him closer. Special's own cassock was what kept his arms from going any higher, no thanks to Papa, but he just had to make due. Then, he rocked his hips, rutting slowly against the man above him, cocks sliding against one another, the sudden friction and pressure making them both shiver. Papa stayed focused on ghoul's chest, and he traveled a little lower, tongue flicking from from between his lips and sweeping across one of his nipples. 

It earned a jolt and a quiet whimper, Special's hips stuttering in their steady rhythm for a moment, but hardly stopping them. Inevitably, that ceased to be enough for his pope, as he became vaguely aware of one of Papa's hands wandering away from where he had braced them on either side of the lithe ghoul beneath him, rustling around in the uppermost drawer of his desk, until it shut abruptly. Special's ears perked at the telltale sound of a small bottle being flicked open, and he wondered if maybe he should’ve been concerned that he was so familiar with the noise.

_ Maybe. _

When Papa straightened up and pulled away, Special hated to admit that he missed the warmth of his body, but it barely mattered much when he watched him squeeze a generous amount of lube into his hand—he got the feeling that Papa was taking a particularly soft approach with him, but he had no frame of reference for that thought —and when the bottle was set aside, Papa wrapped his hand tightly around both of their cocks. Jesus, his hand was huge. But, again, proportional. 

And besides, Special liked it. He hated that he liked it. Fuck this geezer for that. 

His conflict was interrupted when Papa stroked the both of them in a slick grip, forefinger occasionally brushing the head of Special's dick, teasing the slit for the briefest of moments before sliding down the shaft again. It was agonizingly slow, and when the ghoul tried to buck his hips into the sensation, Papa held them firmly in place with his other hand, definitely hard enough to bruise, while still rocking his own against them. 

Special whimpered, chewing his lip so much he was almost drawing blood, reaching for Papa, but he was just out of reach—he couldn't do this, fucking Christ, he was so hard now he was leaking onto his cassock. He was practically dizzy with arousal, and made the most pitiful, sharp moan when his pope stroked them faster.

“Mn, Ghoul. I have an idea.” Papa's voice was low when he spoke, bordering on a growl, and Special hoped that meant he was that much closer to fucking him. 

It took a beat for the fog to clear enough for Special to even understand what he said.

“ _ Yes _ , Papa?”

And then he let go.

Special almost swore at him on an impulse, but caught it, tail thumping against the desk in irritation instead.

“You seem upset.” This motherfucker. “Bring your thighs together.” 

He grabbed Special's legs and did it for him before the ghoul had time to, with his dick pressed tight between them.

Special knew he had nice thighs. Previous partners had commented on them enough for him to take note. And any other time he would  _ love  _ this. But all Papa's teasing—especially now as his lips quirked into that obnoxious half smile of his, even when his breath caught in the skip of a beat as his hips rocked against him, Special watching as his dick peeked from between his cum and lube-slicked legs—it had passed from painful to absolutely torturous.

Now Special really  _ was _ swearing.

Swearing and hissing between clenched teeth, claws extended and scraping across the wooden desk, cheeks fully flushed pink and his lips an even sweeter shade of it. His own dick was held just as tight between his thighs, a drooling mess that only worsened with Papa still rutting against him.

Fuck it, his ego could take a backseat.

“Papa,  _ please _ ,” he whined, claws digging deeper into the wood, but finding no purchase, ”please fuck me, I need you to fuck me, I can't—” 

He shuddered and moaned, and it only got harder to endure.

“I can't fucking— _ a-ah _ —do this. Please, please fuck me.”

And Papa  _ laughed. _

Nothing dramatic or menacing or loud. Just one short and sharp “ _ Ha—”  _ that sounded more like it escaped him by accident, like he knew what he was doing and just couldn't help himself.

_ “Guardati, come implori per il mio cazzo come la puttana che tutti dicono che sei.”  _ Special would’ve taken offense at being called a slut, but he didn’t even have time to register his irritation when Papa thrusted against him harder. He went on, and the ghoul could only wonder how much longer Papa would make him wait.

_ “Siete tutti così voi fire ghoul?”  _

‘Are all fire ghouls like this?’ What did he mean by  _ that _ ?

Papa used his free hand to undo Special's fascia, all while keeping the pace, Special still whispering quiet pleas for him to hurry, appealing to the dark pope’s ego. Papa laughed again—that odd, sharp little laugh that seemed like an afterthought—as he started to fully tug the vestments off of the ghoul laid out before him.

_ “Ti fai chiamare ‘Special’...” _

Well, everyone called him Special, actually.

_ “...Ma apri le tue gambe per me esattamente come gli altri.” _

The ghoul didn’t fully understand the second half of that sentence, but it had something to do with spreading his legs.

Papa tsked, hips gradually slowing to a halt, before he braced both hands on Special’s legs, almost folding him over when he pushed them forward. It didn't last long, the positioning only done to quickly part them, before dragging him closer. 

“Turn on your side,” he said, patting Special's hip to spur him on. He obeyed, and Papa brought one of the small ghoul's legs over his shoulder as he pushed the other down onto the desk, leaving him fully exposed, stripped down to nothing more than his grucifix. 

Papa took his sweet time, tracing a meandering path along Special's inner thigh with the hand he'd used to pin that leg to the desk, slick fingers finding and following the seam of his perineum, before teasing his hole.

It wasn’t nearly enough when he worked two fingers into him, something that barely counted as preparation, but at the very least they were coated in enough lube to make this smoother. Maybe.

All Special knew was that every time those fingers stroked just shy of his prostate, he wanted to fucking scream and twist his way off the desk and out of the office to find someone who'd actually just fuck him unconscious. He was panting, and begging, and his tail twitched and thrashed, but he couldn't get this old man to move faster and it was driving him insane, and every time he reached to touch himself, Papa swatted his hand away. When he finally,  _ finally,  _ slipped his fingers out, and Special felt the thick head of his cock almost press into him, he was sure he could practically cry at that point.

He probably would have, but Papa only teased at giving him what he wanted, frotting against him, dick sliding against his hole in a way that made him shift and tilt his hips in the hopes he'd get a reprieve. But it didn't come. It still didn't come, and his hand balled into a fist so tight that his claws bit into the meat of his palm.

Special had e-fucking- _ nough _ of this bullshit.

If Papa was going to toy with him, Special could play, too. 

_ “To thör toen vadn thar berkyti nagtyn, Lätforn?”  _ the ghoul faked a laugh and spat through teeth as sharp as his tongue,  _ “Ta’gyn gör eg hlát.”  _ All this build up to stroke this bastard's overinflated ego, and what the fuck had Special gotten so far? 

Called a slut in Italian, and nothing to show for it.

It probably wouldn't even be worth it, and the ghoul said as much. It wasn’t like the old fucker could understand Gholish, anyway. There was a glorious kind of catharsis to mocking his pope in a language he couldn’t speak.

_ “Pröv sverar, icekar.”  _ The last word was spoken with as much venom as he could muster, as his lips curled into a lopsided mirror of Papa's smirk. Hard to pull off when red-faced and panting, but it worked well enough.

His smile faltered when Papa stopped moving all at once, visibly tensing, particularly in his shoulders, as if he was holding back some impulse reaction. Then he let go of Special entirely and backed away. A beat passed in which he sighed, and rolled up his sleeves, and he stepped back to where he stood before, gliding a hand along Special’s inner thigh. 

“What was that?” Papa asked, staring down at his own hand, thumb tracing circles into the ghoul’s pale skin. Special thought that perhaps the absence of confrontation in his voice should’ve made him uneasy, but he knew that Papa didn’t understand what he’d said, and that was a fucking  _ riot _ . He was probably the only person who’d ever insulted this arrogant son of a bitch. What an honor.

But, still...Papa was obviously expecting an answer, and the longer he stood there, thumb pressing gradually harder into his thigh, the more uncomfortable Special became. 

Well, he didn’t have to give him an  _ exact _ translation.

“I said—”

“ _ Shh.  _ Hush.”

Or maybe none at all.

As Papa guided Special's other leg back over his shoulder, the already insistent dig of his fingers became more forceful, the slightest pricks of pain on the ghoul’s tender skin. Unease finally settled into discomfort, and by now the smirk had all but completely fallen off of his face, while Papa curled the fingers of his now free hand around Special's tail, seemingly appreciative of the feeling of the soft black fur in his grasp, before giving it one sharp tug _.  _

Special's high-pitched yelp brought back some kind of unplaceable emotion across his pope’s face, however slight. The ghoul couldn’t identify the expression, but it wasn't one he liked.

“Do you want me to fuck you, ghoul?” Papa asked, now handling his tail with a much gentler touch, dissonantly kind compared to the nails that sank deeper and deeper into him, unrelenting to the point that Special could swear they were getting longer and sharper. He bit his lip and breathed through his nose to endure it, nearly biting straight through when Papa pulled his tail again, his response apparently coming too slow for his liking. 

“Y-yes! I do.  _ Yes. _ ”

“Yes what?”

“ _ Fuck— _ yes, I want you to fuck me.” Cowed into obedience, ugh, he sounded like some of his brothers and sisters when Papa so much as glanced in their direction.

“You want me to fuck you, ghoul, or you  _ need _ me to?”

“I need you to. Just—just, please, Papa. Please fuck me. I need it, I need you.”

Okay, he'd admit it: he was a little terrified. But not enough that his dick didn't twitch in response.

Apparently satisfied with his answer, Papa dropped his tail unceremoniously, arm braced around the ghoul's leg over his shoulder, and used his other hand—at which Special exhaled one sharp breath in relief, the lengthening claws that threatened to pierce his flesh finally removed—and realigned the head of his cock with Special's hole.

Papa clicked his tongue, eyes locking with Special's in a razor sharp glance that made him flatten his ears and turn his head away in submission on reflex.

“Well, then,” he said, through a smiled pulled too sharp at its edges, “You won't insult me in that filthy language again.” In the space of a breath, Special felt his stomach drop in realization, before Papa thrusted, hard, all at once into the ghoul he held tight beneath him.

Special yelped loud enough to know that anyone passing by absolutely would have heard him, but Papa set such a harsh pace between them that it was the last thing on his mind, and it was a wonder he hadn't come from that alone for all that he was teased until he was right at the border of hysterics.

There was scarcely a moment wasted; Papa fucked him so hard he would have been jolted further on the desk if not for the bruising grip his thighs were held in. 

Like a mantra, the ghoul chanted, “Fff _ fuck _ you— _ ahh _ —fuck you, f...fuck  _ you,  _ fuck  _ me—, _ ” as his claws sank deeper and deeper into the wood in increments with every thrust—he’d noticed other claw marks in the desk a bit earlier, much bigger and deeper than he could've managed, but not much thought was spared for them—and his voice wavered between desperate whines and mindless babbling. Papa didn't exactly go above and beyond in terms of prep, and Special could definitely feel it in the ache of the way Papa's dick stretched him. It felt  _ too  _ thick, and it hit  _ just right _ inside of him that his cock had smeared pre across his stomach and left a mess on the papers spread over the pope’s desk. This appeared not to bother either of them nearly as much as it technically should have.

Regardless, Special found himself reaching out again, desperate to just  _ touch— _

Anywhere he could, he wanted to touch, he felt so driven with the need to touch Papa  _ anywhere _ , but he was just outside of his reach and there was no comfortable way to lean closer to him. Papa observed with a loosely hung smirk, one brow raised at the ghoul's wanton display that, if Special were not so far gone, would’ve made even him feel somewhat bashful. 

A pitiful groan found its way out of the ghoul instead when he fell back heavily on his side, losing himself in the sensation of Papa's hands on his skin, and how he pounded him clear into his desk with all the vigor of an oversexed 20-something with a fondness for showing off. It wouldn't be too far from the truth if Special closed his eyes. But he wouldn't. He hated the old bastard, but, Lucifer, right now he didn't want to look anywhere but at  _ him,  _ and Papa looking down at him made his chest tighten, a pleasurable heat pooling low in his stomach.

He was so close. So, so close.

His hand wandered to touch himself, to bring himself over that edge, but Papa swatted it away again, growling in annoyance, a rougher thrust following soon after.

“Papa,  _ please _ ...I’m—”

The beginning of his complaint was quickly cut off when Papa shoves Special's leg off of his shoulder, the ghoul making a surprised “oh” when the momentum rolled him onto his back, and the devil pope leaned down on him, body easily dwarfing his.

Papa's arm curled under Special's back, wrapping around his waist and holding him steadfast. His hips never lost their rhythm, fucking him relentlessly with the obscene sound of skin against skin and forcing Special's voice from him until his throat felt raw.

_ “Per essere una puttanella hai un boco piuttosto stretto, Special ghoul,”  _ Papa whispered so close that Special's ears fluttered and his cheeks burned. He would've been insulted earlier but now,  _ fuck,  _ Papa could say whatever he wanted and it would make his toes curl and his tail wrap tight around wherever it could reach his pope.

And that's when Papa reached up with his other arm, fingers clutching a tight fistful of Special's hair and tugging his head back to expose his pale throat, already blooming with bruises.

The ghoul couldn’t hold it back anymore. A low rumble bubbled up in the core of his chest and travelled up his neck, spilling out of him in a loud purr that made his voice vibrate as he came with a high, keening whine. His entire body shuddered beneath Papa and he threw his arms over his neck, claws sinking into his shoulders.

Papa was so taken aback by the purring that it actually made him freeze for several moments, still buried balls deep inside of Special.

“You made a mess of my vest. And...you purr.”

Glassy-eyed, Special took several long and hazy seconds to comprehend what he was hearing. When the rush in his ears finally faded he realized it was Papa's voice, and when the thick fog over his thoughts cleared away he glanced down between them at the wet smear of his own cum across his pope's vest. Shit.

"M'sorry, Papa..." he slurred, still purring and suddenly ashamed of himself, but he didn't get a response. Not verbally, anyway, but he did get Papa's eye contact, boring into him with that fucking creepy eye of his, holding his attention in such a crushing grip that when Papa's hips began to grind into him again Special only squeaked and gasped. Exhausted and still oversensitive after orgasm, he laid back limply and let his pope have his way with him. 

"Fuck," the old man groaned. It sounded so much more vulgar when Papa swore in English. His pace suddenly quickened and then slowed to shallow thrusts, his hands swiftly moving to push Special's knees up and spread him open more before he pulled out of him and came hot onto his hole. With a growl he repositioned himself like he was going to keep fucking him, hissing and sliding his cum-slicked cock against the ghoul's perineum and then practically shivering as he entered Special again, pushing his load into the fucked-out ghoul beneath him.

Drawing in one sharp breath through his teeth, Papa rolled his hips, appraising the way Special whimpered and chewed at his lower lip, but made no attempt to move away, no matter how overstimulated he was.

_ “Non sprecare neanche una goccia di quel che Papa ti dà—non vorral sembrare miconoscente.” _ Special understood that one more than it was probably proper for him to, but he could tell his lecherous old pope had too much fun cumming  _ on _ him for the express purpose of enjoying pushing it  _ into  _ him—via whatever hole he was ravishing at the time. The ghoul was more into it than he’d expected.

And he wanted more.

By all means, the both of them should've been spent, and Special would be so sore, but he didn't care, he couldn't even consider caring. All he could think about was Papa, and his hands, and the way he felt inside of him, and the way he looked at him like he planned to wear him out for all he was worth. And, fuck, Special would let him right now. 

Emboldened by his pope’s gaze, and the dull ache inside him that fueled his craving, the ghoul drew his hands up, sliding them down his body, between his legs…

His fingertips brushed the base of Papa’s dick, following until he was stopped where he was pressed inside of him, skin against skin. He lightly traced where their bodies met, watching as Papa's eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, a simple gesture that made the smallest sliver of pride coil up in the ghoul’s chest.

“ _ More, _ ” Special whispered, voice dipping into a low rasp when he spoke, “Fuck it back into me…give me more.  _ Please _ , Papa.”

“Oh?” Nothing in the old pope’s tone implied surprise, but rather that some expectation he was holding had finally been fulfilled. Like he'd been waiting for what composure Special had left to  _ really _ break. 

Caging both sides of Special's head with his forearms, he came in close enough for their lips to brush with the most feather-light touch, keeping their eyes locked in a half-lidded stare. 

_ “Ne vuoi ancora?” _ This was even more blessedly easy to comprehend, especially in the lust-addled state Special’s mind was in.  _ “Vuoi che Papa te ne dia di più, vero?” _

The ghoul had answered already, begged even.  _ Yes, yes _ , nothing but a resounding  _ yes _ , he wanted more so desperately he found himself practically trembling at his words. By now, all he could manage was dumbly nodding, head tilting by fractions to catch Papa’s lips in a kiss that he had only teased the ghoul with, but to no avail. Even when he eagerly stretched to keep trying, Papa stood straight again, out of his reach, and pulled out of him with a contented sigh.

Special almost thought he was finished with him, and muffled a whine in disappointment at the thought of being left hanging just for the hell of it. It was exactly the kind of thing Papa would do.

Thank Satan, he didn't.

“Did you think that we were done again, ghoul?” Papa asked, pulling and guiding Special to roll onto his stomach, a motion he followed eagerly. “Are you in such a hurry to leave? If you are so busy, then perhaps we can cut this little, eh... _ visit _ ...short.”

Special's head couldn't have whipped around to peer over his shoulder fast enough. 

Papa chuckled in response, hand following a meandering path down Special's back, gliding slowly over his skin. 

“I would not do that, no. Not when I need to hear you purr again.” His hand halted at the base of Special's tail. “You will purr for me, won't you? I always wanted a little black cat when I was a boy...but I attracted dogs instead.”

Special had a hard time imagining Papa as a child at any point at all—and he'd rather not start right now.

Thankfully, Papa made it easy to forget about, when one hand moved and found its place cupped around the curve of his ass, and the other massaged right at the base of Special’s tail with the heel of his palm. Special exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, soothed by the surprisingly tender touches. For a ghoul-hating pope, he seemed to know his way around one’s body better than most ghouls did themselves.

He knew his way so well, in fact, it was easy for Special to miss Papa kneeling behind him, even when the pressure from his palm slowly shifted to the tips of his fingers, up until his thumb slid to the underside of his tail, rubbing and stroking the delicate skin there. Something so simple, and yet the ghoul was so sensitive in that spot that his back arched, tail following the curve of motion as it stiffened and trembled, lifting up further and inadvertently displaying himself fully for the man behind him with a pitiable whimper. Papa gave his ass one more firm squeeze, before his fingers moved to press against his hole, teasing touches that never satisfied until he used them to spread him open, never ceasing the strokes at the base of his tail. The ghoul’s jaw slowly fell slack, hips shifting and canting back into the sensation.

“Ahh, Special ghoul...” Papa’s tone seemed almost affectionate.  _ “Osceno, sei osceno...Così bagnato e aperto per me...Lo adoro. Sei così patetico.” _

Fuck, Papa was right.  _ I am pathetic _ , Special thought,  _ ass-up on his desk like a groupie. _

But he loved it. Papa loved it. He said so. 

When Papa leaned forward, tongue suddenly pressed to Special’s hole, warm and slick and so overwhelming on tender skin that it made Special jolt, it seemed abundantly clear just how much he loved it. Apparently more than the ghoul could’ve guessed. His pope was a goddamned pervert, but maybe Special was worse for being as into it as he was. 

Either way, he squeaked and squirmed, shivering with his eyes shut tight as Papa lapped at him, tongue swirling in languid circles, while he still stroked at the bottom of Special’s tail. Eventually his hand glided reluctantly away from it, joining the other to spread his willing ghoul open just a bit further. Positioned this way, he teased Special’s entrance with the tip of his tongue, sweeping away the mess he’d made of him in slow flicks that made the ghoul suck in a harsh breaths through his teeth.

Then, before he could brace for it, Papa’s tongue dipped inside of him, probing deep, and deeper still until it was too much, too overstimulating. It felt so much further inside of him than it made sense to go and it was driving him crazy.

“Oh _ hh fuck _ —oh no, ohhh fuck.  _ Fuck—! _ ” Special spat each word in a rush all at once, breathy and urgent as his tail whipped and thrashed about, muscles in his back tensing and rolling when he arched further. “Hhholy shit, oh my— _ god. P-papa,  _ ohhh _ fuck! _ ”

This seemed to urge Papa to take it further, and he tongue-fucked his ghoul in earnest now, his own building excitement made obvious, chin slicked with spit as his nails slowly dug into the soft flesh held tight in his grip. Special moaned and keened, words failing him while he rocked back against Papa’s face eagerly and desperately, cock throbbing and leaking onto the rug beneath them.

Special lost track of how long this went on, Papa reveling in the taste of himself inside of the smaller ghoul, working his tongue into him as deep as it would go, which was already—and Special really  _ wasn’t  _ imagining it—inhumanly deep, and felt sinfully good. Satan, if the others could see him now...well, they’d be envious, actually. Regardless, his tongue did gradually work its way out, Papa gliding it over Special’s hole a final time in one long, luxurious lick, before wiping his chin with the back of his hand when he pulled away.

The older man swatted Special’s ass once before he stood, drawing a little yelp from him that made him snicker to himself under his breath as he undid the buttons on his vest, slipping it off and tossing it aside.

Special only laid out limply on the desk, watching Papa from over his shoulder, chest heaving as he struggled to bring himself back down to earth, still presenting himself with his tail lifted high. Papa met his gaze, eyes boring back into his, never breaking away even as his hands found their way to Special’s waist, pinning him down.   
  
_ “Ti scoperò fino a che l’unica cosa che conoscerai non sarà il mio nome.”  _ The devil pope cooed, words sounding as sweet as honey, and Special couldn’t figure out if that was a threat or a promise. All he knew was he’d practically fucked him to that point already. There wasn’t long to consider it, not when Papa’s cock was hilted inside of him again. Jesus Christ, how many times was the old man going to fuck him?

Not that the ghoul minded—he'd already come to terms with the fact that Papa was the best dick he'd ever had.   
  
In this position, on his stomach, Special's feet barely touched the floor, and every thrust from behind shoved him farther up onto the desk until his toes scrabbled to stay on the carpet. More thrusting and he lost contact with the floor entirely, his feet dangling and claws curling over the edge of the desk, hanging on for dear life as another cacophony of gasps and moans and cries of Papa's name cascaded from his wet lips.

Each time his grip faltered, claws scraping across the dark wood to find purchase, Papa’s hips pushed him further, and in a final attempt at steadying himself, Special hooked his ankles behind Papa’s legs, but that barely helped.

Behind him, Papa made a soft sound of irritation, presumably annoyed at the need to continue dragging the slender ghoul back onto his dick each time he failed to manage to anchor himself properly. Eventually, it became enough of an irritation that the old pope decided to, very literally, take matters into his own hands.

Bending forward, he slithered his arm around Special’s waist, and on a three-count that was more to warn Special than it was for Papa to brace himself, he hoisted him up off of the desk in one smooth motion.

The count didn’t do much to prepare him, or maybe Special was just too lost to the feeling of Papa buried to the hilt inside of him, and he was easily startled, limbs flailing and fingers spread, claws extended as far as they could go. Worse yet, he made a horrible warble of a noise at the same time that was _decidedly_ unsexy, but Papa apparently opted to ignore it. Thank Satan. Papa took a couple steps back, and with the ghoul still held tight, settled back into his chair—not heavily, but hard enough that, to Special, he felt forced just that much deeper inside of him. It’s so sudden and hurt in just the right way that Special choked on his own voice and sank his claws into the armrests, though Papa pried them off with a sneer before hooking his hands behind the ghoul’s knees.

He lifted Special’s legs, practically folding him in half when he pulled them up to his chest, and Special found himself with no way to brace other than hooking one hand behind Papa’s neck, and the other clinging to whatever open surface he could reach.

Papa pressed his lips close to Special's ear again, breath in a warm torrent over his skin before he spoke, deep and measured, a rumble from the center of his chest that made Special's eyes flutter and roll as if the sound itself were a caress.

“Special ghoul,” he said, and Special could feel his cheeks flush again in response to his name. “Your Papa has treated you so well, yes? Filled you up and satisfied you like this?”

Once more, his answer is an emphatic  _ yes _ . Yes, yes, Jesus  _ Christ _ yes, and he'd be limping for the better part of a week at least, but it was  _ so _ fucking worth it. Of all the turns this little visit could've taken, this was the least expected but absolute best possible outcome. He'd have some nice fodder for the nights when his bed was empty.

“ _ P-papa _ —thank you, Papa.” Those were the only words he could manage anymore, as pathetic as it sounded, but his pope still seemed pleased. And he laughed. It was nothing like the laugh from before—sharp and startling and over as soon as it was heard—this one was different. It came out low, so much like silk that rolled off the tongue, a sound akin to a purr of his own that rumbled against Special's back, and Special felt the telltale beginnings of what he couldn't control before. It started quiet, then blossomed throughout the rest of his chest all at once. He was purring  _ again _ .

Just listening to Papa speak was enough to make him purr again. Fuck. As if he couldn’t have sunk lower.

Papa simply enjoyed how easy it was to drag it out of him the second time around, humming along in deeper tones to the vibration with Special laid flush against his chest. He buried his face in the crook of the ghoul’s neck again, breathing in his scent, before teeth sank into the delicate skin there. The sudden pain, not deep enough to draw blood, but deep enough to leave a mark, dragged out a cry from Special that he only barely managed to muffle. But it served well enough as the distraction Papa wanted it to be, hips slowly rolling up into the ghoul he held firmly in his lap.

All Special could do was cling weakly to his pope, panting and desperately trying to rock his hips into the feeling, but Papa held him so tight he couldn’t move no matter how much he wanted to. It was unbearable and he knew that Papa knew, because almost everything that bastard did was deliberate.   
  
“You want to cum so badly, don’t you, ghoul?” He could practically hear the cheeky smile in Papa’s voice before he ran his tongue lightly against the shell of his ear, and Special trembled and nodded in reply. “Mmm, I won’t make you beg this time. You’ve been very obedient since your mistake earlier.”

His fingers curled just a little bit tighter behind the backs of Special’s knees, as if to gauge his grip on him. Special got the feeling that he should hold on tighter himself. It’s an intuition that proves to be incredibly correct.

“Never say that I am not forgiving, Special ghoul.”

With a growl, Papa abruptly thrust faster, deep and hard and relentless, and Special couldn’t hold himself together anymore. He practically went limp in Papa’s arms, so overstimulated when nearly every pump of his hips hit his prostate that his mouth fell open and his head lolled from one side to the other. Panting in short, sharp little breaths, the ghoul found himself wholly and utterly incoherent, and each time he made a sound Papa particularly liked, he’d fuck him more roughly just to hear it again.

Special had made even more of a mess of himself, and surely looked the part of the debauched slut Papa said he was—drooling and moaning, toes spreading and curling, cock leaking across his stomach again—it was a shameful display but he felt  _ too good.  _ He purred so strongly and loudly that the rumble felt like it spread so much further than his chest, a development that made Papa's hips stutter in their punishing pace for just a moment as he muffled a groan in the crook of Special's neck.  

Moans became hoarse, breathy whines, the ghoul’s throat worn raw. He was getting close again so soon, and the way his thighs trembled in Papa’s grip was enough of a hint to the older man.

“Papa— _ nnn-yah—Paaa-pa,”  _ the words came high-pitched and needy. He was so far beyond the ability to beg, and Papa got just what he wanted from him—fucked until all he could say was his name. Smirking against his skin, Papa canted his hips just right _ , _ angling each thrust to hit that sweet spot inside of him with no reprieve to catch his breath.

Special's orgasm hit him harder and faster than he was braced for.

He came with sob—loud and so ragged it made his chest ache—tears wetting his cheeks. There was no way around it: Papa literally fucked him so good that he cried. Goddamn. Fucking  _ wow. _ He knew for a fact he'd never let it go either.

Papa squeezed Special's legs hard enough to bruise when the ghoul clenched around him, gritting his teeth with a hiss, hips losing their rhythm entirely as he fucked him with a series of quick, staccato thrusts. When he stilled, he buried his cock so deep Special could swear it was in his fucking lungs—at least, that's what it felt like. One of Papa's hands slipped from behind Special's knee, grabbing his chin and shoving his head to the side far enough for their lips to lock in a messy kiss. It's intoxicating in a way that Special knew someone could get lost in if they weren't careful. Papa stifled a groan into his mouth as he grinded their hips, releasing his load  _ inside _ the ghoul for the first time in their brief time together.

Both men sat in silence for a long while, sweating and steadying their breath like they were in awe of everything that had just occurred between them. Special prayed to whoever was listening—although he wouldn't be surprised if any deities who did happen to be paying attention had turned away with blushed faces—that Papa was done with him, and when the old man finally lifted him off of his cock, the ghoul sighed in relief. He was sure he'd die if they went for another round. 

Special struggled to stand with quivering knees, bracing himself on the corner of Papa's desk. The pope shooed him aside so that he could retrieve a fresh cigarette from the drawer. Reclining with spread legs, half-limp cock still laying proudly against his hipbone, he lit up and watched Special hobble in the direction of his discarded cassock, which had wound up in the spidery leaves of a potted plant halfway across the office. He grinned at the sight of his own cum leaking down the ghoul's leg. 

"You may use my shower to clean yourself, ghoul," he said, gesturing to the far door. Special's ears perked in the direction of his voice, but he didn't respond. His throat was too dry, he was too fucked out, and if he was more cognitively present he would've questioned the uncharacteristically kind gesture of allowing a ghoul to use his private bathroom, but instead he nodded obediently and trudged like a zombie toward the door. 

After a hot shower that didn't help much to soothe his aching muscles, Special exited the bathroom to find an empty office, Papa nowhere to be seen. The old fucker apparently wasn't much for aftercare.

Before leaving, he stopped to pick his mask up off the desk where he'd left it. He paused to examine the marks his claws had left in the desk's polished surface, chuckling to himself. A little something for Papa to remember him by. Next to his own scratchmarks were the same deep gashes he'd noticed earlier. He ran his fingertips over them, feeling how much deeper they were and wondering if whoever had left them had survived their encounter with the pope.   

A glance up at the clock on the wall snapped him out of it. Shit, had he been in here that long?! If he ran, he could probably still catch the tail-end of the evening meal, but running would be difficult when his ass felt like he'd just taken the entire clergy. Regardless, he quickly showed himself out of the pope's quarters.

The smell of Papa on him was sure to pique the interest of some of his brothers and sisters. Special couldn't wait to tell them all about it.    
  



End file.
